


A Lover's Embrace

by septemberleaves



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Perfume, Post-Canon, RWRB Romance Week, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29351412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septemberleaves/pseuds/septemberleaves
Summary: Alex realizes he doesn't know the name of Henry's cologne and has a slight crisis.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 174
Collections: RWRB Romance Week





	A Lover's Embrace

**Author's Note:**

> Day 1 of RWRB Romance Week: Perfume

Alex can’t sit still, but that’s not anything new. His resting state is 100 miles per hour fueled by six shots of espresso. Usually, he can keep the frenetic energy focused, honing all of his brainpower into revising an essay that’s not due for another two weeks or tackling the mountain of reading required as a 2L student. While he knows that isn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, it certainly comes in handy with the beast that is law school. But currently, Alex can’t even distract himself with the joy of Dr. Pullman’s Immigration Law and the Rights Of Noncitizens. He sincerely tries, opening the laptop and staring at it blankly before giving up and tossing it to the empty side of the bed. 

The half empty bed is the reason for his distraction. The only thing that consumes his mind more than studying is his boyfriend. And said boyfriend is three thousand miles away. 

Balancing life between England and New York was never going to be easy; Henry and Alex had both known that. They’d made long-distance work before, so Past Alex had thought being away from each other for a bit every now and then wouldn’t be so bad. Except Present Alex has become spoiled waking up in Henry’s arms every morning, and now even two week absences leave him feeling hollow. 

Henry’s latest trip requires him to be gone for almost three weeks, and Alex is already counting down the days. While they still text regularly and FaceTime daily, Alex misses the all-encompassing presence that is Henry. The way his hair shines golden in the first light of dawn, the way unabashed joy fills his voice when playing fetch with David, the way he firmly closes the front door on the first try when he gets home from work. (Alex swears he must’ve cut down the door’s tree family in a past life because it refuses to cooperate with him, forcing him to slam it shut with his butt every time.) 

Embarrassingly, most of all he misses Henry’s smell. The third night being apart, Alex had laid on Henry’s pillow (even though it’s way too limp and gave him a crick in the neck the next morning) just to inhale his scent and to pretend Henry was beside him. The rest of the week, Alex might've adopted the habit of washing his hair daily using Henry’s expensive shampoo. 

On the eighth day, Alex had hit a new low. David had caught Alex huffing a sweater he’d found over the back of a chair in their office. Alex rationalized the dog had no idea how weird it was for a human to do that, but he still felt weirdly self-conscious. 

Then he’d realized he’d been going about this all wrong, that there was a much simpler solution to his needs. He’d congratulated himself on his ingenuity as he made his way into the bathroom to find a bottle of Henry’s cologne. Only, it was gone. He’d checked the counter, the cabinet, and the drawers but hadn’t found any sign of the glass bottle. Henry must’ve either ran out or took it with him across the seas for some reason. 

No problem, he’d thought. He’d just buy some more. And that was when the realization hit. Alex didn’t know the name of Henry’s cologne. It was some fancy French bullshit and he could remember Henry’s voice curling around the accents, but googling “sexy French words expensive cologne, fresh linen yet grassy” hadn’t turned up any worthwhile results. He’d even resorted to searching “Prince Henry cologne,” hoping to find a magazine’s interview where he had revealed it but still had no luck. (Alex was sort of relieved that although he didn’t know the name of Henry’s smell, at least the world was also in the dark.)

What kind of terrible boyfriend didn’t know his partner of three years’ cologne? They’d spent countless mornings sharing the bathroom and fighting over the sink. A film of Henry brushing his teeth, combing pomade through his hair, and dabbing cologne at his collarbone and slender wrists was permanently ingrained in his mind. But he couldn’t visualize the bottle. Alex knew he could just text Henry and ask, but that would lead to questions of why he needed it. And Alex didn’t want to admit his newfound, strange obsession. 

That fiasco had been three days ago, and Alex still hasn’t let it go. He’s continued sleeping with Henry’s pillow (much to his neck’s annoyance) with the sweater in his arms. Unfortunately, both scents were fading fast from his constant exposure. Alex had looked for other clothes that smelled like him, but Henry had become really on top of laundry lately. It was a new skill that he’d developed, never having to do so back at Kensington, and he took pride in being self-reliant. While Alex appreciated Henry’s acts of service (and looking at his hamper, he could definitely use some right now), it meant that the brownstone was almost devoid of any old clothes infused with his scent. Soon, he’d be out of it and forced to spend the last week apart from the comforting smell that is Henry. 

Knowing he won’t get any more work done, Alex leaves his laptop sitting on the bed and instead reaches for his phone. While he can’t ask Henry directly, he has other sources. 

“There has to be a good reason why you’re calling me at three a.m.,” Zahra’s voice sparks over the phone. Oops, Alex hadn’t realized how much time had passed since his and Henry’s goodnight phone call. 

“I’m sorry, I’ll call back lat—“

“I was already up. What do you need, you little shit?” 

Alex fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I was, um, wondering if you could maybe ask Shaan what cologne Henry uses.” There’s a long lapse of silence on the other end.

“Just to clarify, you called me at three in the morning to see if I could ask _my_ husband what the name of _your_ boyfriend’s cologne is?” Her tone is calculatingly slow. 

“Yeah, um, yes.”

“Does your phone suddenly not work internationally?” 

“I don’t want Henry to know I’m asking,” he says sheepishly. “If you ask Shaan, you can make up some reason or PR thing for needing it.” He’d ask Shaan himself, but that man shares Zahra’s talent of seeing right through Alex. 

“So you want me to _lie_ to my husband?”

“Please? Henry must’ve taken the bottle with him, and then I realized I’m an absolutely terrible person who doesn’t know the name of his own boyfriend’s cologne.” He pauses a moment. “His pillow doesn’t smell like him anymore,” he admits quietly.

She must hear the desperation in his voice and decides to take pity on him. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he rushes.

“Now get some sleep, kid. I can see the circles under your eyes from here.” She hangs up before he can say another thank you.

Alex actually does follow her advice. At peace knowing that he’ll soon be united with at least a part of Henry, he curls up in bed with his head on the too soft pillow, the sweater in his arms, and David at his feet.

* * * * *

Zahra doesn’t call back the next day, nor the one after that. Alex tries to shrug off his impatience and worry. He realizes she has much more important matters to deal with than him missing his boyfriend. She’s already going above and beyond the line of duty, so he controls himself enough not to call her again. But he wants to. He _really_ wants to. 

Those thoughts keep racing through his head, battling for first place even during his early morning video call with Henry. Today officially marks fourteen days away from his love. As Alex stares at a lounging Henry in his music room, he imagines himself tucked in next to him. Just the two of them, his head resting against his cardigan clad shoulder, eyes falling shut, and nose brushing the soft fabric to find the scent of his faraway home. 

“Alex, love. Are you alright?” Henry’s voice shocks Alex out of his reverie. 

“Yeah, I just—” Alex stops, cursing himself for the shaky, fragile tone his voice had assumed. “I miss you.”

Henry’s eyes soften, and Alex could drown in the oceans of devotion he sees in them. “I know. I miss you too.” 

Henry has to go soon after that. (They had scheduled their call between his appearances.) Before they say their goodbyes, Henry blurts out, “Don’t forget to check the mail.”

“Shall I expect another letter from the Queen?” Alex quips. A few months ago, the despot had sent a physical invitation for her coronation’s anniversary. It had only been addressed to Henry. (He’d dragged Alex along with him anyway.)

Henry shrugs, which is decidedly not like Henry. “Something like that.”

* * * * *

Later that evening, the sun is just beginning to set when Alex arrives back home from NYU. It had been a long day. There’d been a guest lecturer in one of his seminars, and the man had spoken in a dead monotone. Alex had felt more sleepy in that auditorium than he normally feels in bed.

As he makes his way up the steps, he remembers Henry’s words. Turning back around, he heads to their mailbox. (Technically, it’s their second mailbox since everything directed to him and Henry is first checked for safety somewhere else.) The box is a subtle thing. Painted a light brown, it is nearly hidden in its spot built into the right pillar of the stoop. He unlocks it, grabs the mail, and doesn’t bother to sort it until he is back inside. The mail has to wait a bit as he takes a howling David outside, but he finally returns to the stack that’s been strewn on the entry table. 

Bill, bill, invite to a charity auction, bill. He shuffles through them until a distinctive back of a letter catches his eye. It’s a clear plastic envelope, a bit smaller and more square than the normal ones, and it has a paper one inside. The inner envelope is a honey brown and sealed with an elaborate wax stamp. The seal is dark blue, embellished with gold to detail the shape of a fox curled up in front of a starry sky. _Henry_. He flips the envelope over to look at the front. In the top right resides a postage stamp, a picture showing the outside view of the V&A. Stroking his thumb over the stamp, he looks at Henry’s careful cursive of “Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz” and wonders how could he ever hope to deserve such a loving and attentive partner. 

Alex remembers Henry’s goodbye this morning and realizes how thick he is to not have suspected his boyfriend’s ulterior motive of making sure he would pick up the mail. Henry had taken up mail art after they’d moved into the brownstone together, which meant that Alex had needed to buy a letter opener instead of resorting to his patented way of scrambling to rip envelopes in half. Henry aged his own stationary, practiced calligraphy, and melted wax to create works of art to send to their families and friends on special occasions. The only thing more beautiful than the letters were the words written inside them. 

As quickly as Alex dares to when handling a sacred artifact, he removes the letter from its plastic sleeve. He feels like an over-sentimental idiot, but he clutches the brown envelope to his chest right over his heart into a hug. That’s when he notices the smell. The letter smells like home, like clean linen and fresh grass, and Alex’s heart is so full it could burst. Henry, an equally sentimental idiot, must’ve scented it with his cologne. He unabashedly inhales deeply, his heart and lungs both filled with love for Henry, before moving to the letter’s contents.

He grabs the letter opener from a bowl on the table and carefully slits the envelope open. Inside is a thick, textured paper folded up a few times. The smell is even stronger now, he realizes as he unfurls the letter. Instead of the usual paragraphs of adoration, the cream paper is blank except for a few words written in elaborate, black swoops in the center of the page: L'étreinte d'un Amant Eau de Parfum.

That motherfucker. Alex is not dense enough not to recognize the last few words. He dials Henry’s number without checking his schedule, assuming by now he’d be leaving whatever engagement he’d been attending. Henry picks up on the fourth ring.

“You beautiful bastard.”

Henry laughs at his mock frustration. “I’m assuming you received my letter?” he asks, voice too innocent to be genuine. Alex can hear the smile in his voice, causing one to reluctantly grow on his own face.

“I did. Zahra told you?” Alex guesses.

“Zahra told Shaan, who then told me.”

Alex groans. He wants to say he’d kill Zahra for this, but he knows she would destroy him in a fight. “I didn’t want you to know,” he mumbles.

“Know what? That you miss me as much as I miss you?” Henry teases lightly.

“No, you already know that. It’s just—” Alex takes a deep breath, and he lets go of the insecurities he’d been holding in for the past week. “We’ve been together for almost three years. We live together for fuck’s sake, and I didn’t even know what the name of your cologne was. I should’ve _known_. I love you so much that I should’ve known.” There’s a bit of silence, and Alex can hear Henry collecting his thoughts.

“Alex, love doesn’t require you to know each and every minute detail of someone’s life. If that were true, we’d all be incapable of it.” Henry pauses. Alex pictures him jutting out his chin as he charges on. “In our lives especially, it’s not the little particulars that matter. People across the world memorize trivial tidbits of our personalities, our likes and dislikes, our routines. But they don’t truly know us. They don’t know me like you do. They don’t wake up, recognize my darker moods, and know to hold me closer. They don’t know the many minutes of silence and cups of Earl Grey I require to settle my nerves after an appearance. They don’t know the look in my eyes or the taste of my lips when you greet me at the door of our home. Alex, they don’t know the things that matter like you do.”

Alex is full-on crying now. How dare Henry have the power over so many beautiful words and use them to reassure him. 

“Alex, I love you, and I couldn’t care less if you know the name of my cologne. It’s in _French_ for Christ’s sake, a language you don’t even speak.”

Alex lets out a snotty laugh. “I love you too, baby,” 

“Seeing you this morning, I nearly told you the name,” Henry hesitates. His next words are slower and softer. “In retrospect, I should’ve told you. I’m sorry I didn’t see how much you were doubting yourself.”

“No, Henry. If you don’t expect me to know everything about you, I can’t expect you to read my mind. Besides, this was so witty and beautiful and so utterly badass Prince Charming of you.” Alex earns a bark of Henry’s laughter for that. 

“So what does it actually mean?” Alex asks after absolutely butchering the French written on the card.

“L'étreinte d'un Amant Eau de Parfum.” Henry repeats the name much more smoothly, warranting a breathy sigh from Alex. God, Henry speaking French was so fucking hot. Voice filled with tenderness, he says, “A lover’s embrace.”

And at that moment, with Henry’s words in his ears, his tears drying on his cheeks, and the letter’s scent enveloping him, Alex swears he can feel Henry's arms around his own.

Alex thinks the scented paper won’t fade before Henry comes home, but just in case he orders a bottle (or three) of L'étreinte d'un Amant Eau de Parfum and pays extra for express shipping.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Some of the components of Henry's letter I based off of real items.  
> Here is the fox wax stamp: https://royalwaxseals.com/collections/starry-sky/products/starryfox_wax_seal_saa7-30  
> And here's what the postage stamp looked like: https://www.pinterest.pt/pin/559361216190363088/?amp_client_id=CLIENT_ID(_)&mweb_unauth_id=%7B%7Bdefault.session%7D%7D&_url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.pinterest.pt%2Famp%2Fpin%2F559361216190363088%2F&_expand=true
> 
> PS: Sorry if the French is wonky. I blame google translate.


End file.
